Soil

I recall two years past another time
when my heart within my chest gave
no inkling it would fail me
as hearts are want to do

The crocus would begin to peer
above the ground in unexpected places
in the grassy areas and I would
mow around them carefully

Then smile to see their petals close
to open only when the sun’s rays
caught their lavender petals
amidst the hosta’s large leaves

They came up year after year splendid
regal, demanding to be seen
pushing aside grass, weeds, plants
‘look at me, look at me’

I looked and now how I miss them
yet how I am so like them always
determined to break forth, to go past
what my heart was capable of doing

I did steer past all the obstacles
the ones in my way, the ones not seen
microscopic bacteria running rampant
using my blood like water driven roads

All the while moving forward striving
to rise above like the tiny crocus
clinging to soil beneath the grass
pushing through all the hosta leaves

My heart did fail me but others like me
took great care that it should beat again
that I might recall a time now past and
a lesson learned from the tiny crocus

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

tiny-crocus

Google Image

I consider myself to be
a peaceful person
living in a place
not fraught with war
void of detonating bombs
fragments of life gone

I consider myself but
to no avail
for the rumbling of war
has never been far
as off in the distance
on foreign soils
it creeps very close
to my own back door

I considered myself to be
living my life apart
even during Viet Nam years
seen on broadcast news
of death and others tears
of something I was
unable to touch

I considered myself & then
my son joined in the ranks
of men and women called
to fight in a war fueled
by the inner turmoil
of a people distant
and out of sight

I considered myself to be
untouched by the carnage
the destruction of
people unknown to me
whose lives were
never mentioned

I considered myself & then
you came home & you
seemed different
for you brought the
memories with you
that now touch my life
to forever affect it
with war

I have known many who became soldiers. My own father and his brothers fought in World War II, my brother was in service during Viet Nam but did not see battle. But when my own son went to the Middle East, even though he was fortunate enough not to have had to be in a battle, he saw enough of the aftermath, that it has affected his life in ways I will never be able to understand. For most soldiers do not speak of what they have seen and heard but these things, I know, cannot be erased from memory.

http://intothebardo.wordpress.com